


deliver us from evil

by byronicmaiden



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Catholic School, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Good for her, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murkoff Corporation, Revenge, Teen Pregnancy, because someone dies :), character death but it’s deserved, i guess that one tag isn’t quite right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:01:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29090964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronicmaiden/pseuds/byronicmaiden
Summary: and lead us not into temptation–if jessica escaped, and what happens after she does.(an alternate ending to my jessica character studyinto temptation, because we all want to see jessica survive and get some justice.)
Relationships: Jessica Gray/Blake Langermann
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. in the name of

She liked the cold of the storage locker. The chill electrifies her, goes up her body and makes her feel numb, makes her almost feel clean again. She likes huddling in the dim room with Blake, stealing snacks and wandering aimlessly.

  
Blake is being strange about Lynn, he won’t talk about her, and she wants him to just admit he likes her, he likes Lynn so much more than Jessica. But they don’t touch, they don’t even really kiss, like that’s something forbidden, something they should never do, and that makes her feel so much worse about the things she’s done. If only he knew.

“So like, is she your girlfriend?” Jessica asks, delighting in the embarrassment on Blakes face. “Tell me, or else.”

“Or else what?” he asks.

She smiles and lunges at him, pinning him to the floor, holding him down by his wrists as he laughs in surprise, and she thinks, it feels so good to be the one in control, to be the one doing the hurting, and she wonders if this is why God is always punishing His children, because it feels so good to be the one to dole out punishment for once.

“I got you again,” she smirks triumphantly, laughing as his glasses slip down his nose.

“Okay, get off, get off me!” he cries out, still laughing.

“Not unless you answer,” she says.

“No!”

Blake is so different from Loutermilch, he is so sweet and easy to talk to, so understanding and gentle, and sitting on top of him doesn’t feel anything like when Loutermilch hurts her and makes her bleed and calls it love. It’s just a mockery of love, a perversion, she knows that now that she’s opened her heart to Blake and poured it into his palm, because this is what love feels like, so good and pure and kind like sunlight and warmth.

“Fine”, she folds her arms. “Then you have to give up. If you say I win, I’ll let you up.” It feels good to play God, to see Blake powerless beneath her, but she doesn’t want to hurt him, she just wants him to let her win, please, she just wants to win for once.

“Okay,” he groans, rolling his eyes.

“You have to say it,” she demands.

“You win! Okay?” he says.

She smiles and climbs off him, helping him up. “You’re such a pushover, Blake.”

Loutermilch would never let her get what she wanted that easily, he never cared about what she wanted, he never cared how she felt as long as he got his way, and he could just never get enough, he always needed more from her.

She takes Blakes hand and walks him out of the locker, through the empty cafeteria, that rotten food smell hitting them and then disappearing just as quick, and she leads him through the dark school, full of shadowy corners and blinding fluorescents, the snow outside bathing the whole place in a blue glow.

She’s imaging spending the night at Blakes house, with his parents who are always so nice to her, wrapped in blankets on his sectional sofa while the storm rages outside, and it’s just the two of them in the whole world and nothing on Earth or in Hell can tear them apart, it doesn’t matter because he will never let her go, he will never hurt her or let anything bad happen to her, he will always find her and save her. And she will finally get away from all this, from her father and her Father, she’ll leave this wretched town and have her own little apartment in the city, she’d get a job doing something quaint and quiet, maybe waitressing while she works on her music. She’ll ask Blake and Lynn to join the band she’s been imagining for months, she’ll dance to her Devil music all she wants and no one will punish her for anything anymore. She’ll get away, she’ll put all this in the past. She’ll find her son. She’ll raise him to know nothing but love and happiness. She’ll give him a name. She’ll love him just the way he is.

But then Father Loutermilch is stepping out of the music room, and oh no, she was so sure he’d be gone by now, she thought he would’ve given up, and he’s talking to Blake, she doesn’t want him to talk to Blake, she doesn’t want him to look at Blake and ruin him and put his dirty sinful disgusting filthy hands on him, because that’s what he is, he’s spent so long convincing her she was the sinner, she was the wicked seductress and he was a holy man swayed from the path of righteousness, but she knows it’s wrong, she knows it’s wrong when he looks at Blake the same way he looked at her, and she realizes now he never loved her, he was just a sick, lustful pervert who couldn’t control himself, and he would do the same things to Blake. The same things he did to her. All those lies he told her about how special she was, how God had chosen her– none of it was true. How many others had he fed those lies? How many more had he ruined?

Jessica grabs Blakes hand, pulls him into the music room, and Loutermilch is talking to them and she hates him so much, she just wants this to stop, and she knows he won’t do anything with Blake there to protect her, Blake will keep her safe, Blake will defend her. For once, someone will care, someone will see what’s happening and stop it.

But Blake slumps his shoulders and looks at the ground, then he’s leaving, _nonono why is he leaving, please Blake please come back please don’t leave me here to rot._

And Loutermilch is pushing Blake out of the room, and Blake is backing away until he’s out the door, until Jessica can’t hold his hand anymore and she just hears his footsteps retreat, and her savior, her messiah has abandoned her, no one cares, no one notices, no one gives a damn about her. No one will fight for her; she is forced to fight for herself.

“Blake!” she calls, pushing past Loutermilch and slipping out the door, grabbing Blake by the hand. “I’m coming with you, okay?” she holds his hand tightly, and he blinks at her, nodding silently.

“Jessica,” Loutermilch says, his voice so stern and icy, a voice that makes her blood run cold and her knees shake, but she remains standing tall, gritting her jaw to show him that she was not afraid. That she was not a piece of unripe fruit for him to devour and destroy, and he would regret the day he first laid his hands on her.

“Come back here. Now.” He seems genuinely baffled that she is daring to disobey him, that she isn’t bowing down and worshipping him.

He didn’t care about spreading the word of God. He just cared about being treated like he was God.

And she thinks of Lucifer and how he fell for daring to speak out against his mistreatment, and she realizes if she’s already going to Hell for lying, then she has nothing left to lose.

“No,” she says, suddenly possessed with a bravery she didn’t know she had. _For Blake_ , she thought. _I can’t be strong for myself, but I can be strong for him._

Her heart is beating so rapidly against her chest, her legs are trembling beneath her, her hands shaking as she attempts to ball them into fists. But still, she steps in front of Blake, putting herself between him and Loutermilch, shielding him from his lecherous gaze.

_Do whatever you want to me_

“I’m leaving. With Blake.”

_But you can’t touch him_

Loutermilch’s eyes have changed from cold to burning, burning with rage and hellfire as he stares at her like he wishes he could just lunge across the room and strangle her, beat her, kill her, keep her quiet and dead so no one will ever know his dirty little secret.

“Jessica, if you don’t come back in here, I’m calling your father. You don’t want that, do you? You don’t want to upset him.”

Whatever nightmare her father has planned for her couldn’t possibly be worse than what was to come if she stayed.

“Do whatever you want. I don’t care.“

He steps closer to her, and she almost backs away instinctively, but she plants her feet firmly on the ground. She is overcome with a strange feeling, a bravery bestowed upon her by some unseen force. Maybe God. Maybe something else.

“Jessica–“ he reaches for her, he’s going to touch her face again, and she wishes someone would cut off his hands so he could never touch another innocent little girl. Those hands that have stolen so much from her, that clawed out her innocence with a rosary wrapped around his finger. Fingers down her throat and fingers making her bleed. Blood and filth and hurt and and pain and rape. Rape. Rape. _Help, someone, help me, please._

The rage fills her like air in a balloon, like music once did a million years ago, when she still thought Father Loutermilch so kind and trustworthy, like the father she never had, someone who truly cared about her, someone to listen for once in her miserable life. She thinks of how sweet he’d been to her during those first few weeks, how he never took his eyes off her, how he consoled her when she told him she thought she wasn’t as pretty as the other girls and assured her she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. How he gave her gifts when he first set his sight on her– little things no one would notice, things surely no one would find weird at all. A new bible, an ornate music box she could wind up and fall asleep to.

How he slid his hand up her skirt and touched the most private areas of her body with his dirty hands, how he held her down and made her bleed and said that’s what people in love do. How he said it was a sin to cover herself and hide from him, for God made Adam and Eve without clothing, so she should have no objections to undressing for him. Surely she didn’t think God had made a mistake.

And then she can’t stop herself, her hand is contracting into a claw, sharp and stiff like she’s seizing, and she raises her little hands and slices her nails across his face, through his eye. She cuts him from the red mark on his forehead to his jawline, three long strips of flesh peeled away.

He stumbles back, hissing in pain and grasping at his bleeding face. Jessica grabs Blakes hand and pulls him down the hall, running so fast she feels like she’s floating, dragging him through the school, finally running and running as fast as she can, away from all of it, from Loutermilch and Saint Sybil and her father and the silhouette of her dead mother swaying above her head and groping hands in the dark and a rotten tongue in her mouth and secrecy and shadow and darkness.

She can hear Loutermilch yelling for her, yelling her name like she is a faithful pet that will return once she realizes her mistake. She doesn’t stop, she doesn’t even look back as she pulls Blake through the two sets of doors, tripping down the rubber coated stairs, out into the schoolyard, both of them hit with a blast of frigid air, the snow crunching beneath them. She feels the cold wetness seep through her shoes, soaking her socks. She thinks of the locker room shower. She thinks of hours underneath the stream of water, scrubbing and scrubbing until her skin is red and angry. She thinks of holy water and how it never once made her feel anything but filthy.

Even through the heavy set of double doors, she swears she can hear Loutermilch close behind her, yelling her name, cursing and shouting with rage. She doesn’t stop to look back and see if he’s actually there, for she knows the second she stops running, he’ll catch up to her and drag her back down to Hell.

They finally reach the heavy iron gates encircling the school, and Jessica pulls at the bars and realizes the gate is locked. She always hated that gate– how imposing it looked, not at all comforting or secure. What was the point of it, even? To stop intruders from entering? Or to stop inhabitants from escaping?

She hears the doors to the school squeal open, metal banging against brick. She hears her name being called. Her name and rude words and mean things he would never call her if he really loved her. She grabs Blake by the wrist and the two slide between the iron bars, squeezing through and landing in the snow beneath them.

Jessica jumps to her feet, helping Blake up as he stutters and sobs, asking her what’s going on, why she did that, why they’re running. Snot drips from his nose and freezes on his lip as he hiccup-cries. She says she’ll explain it later. They just need to get home.

* * *

She doesn’t let them stop running until she can’t hear Loutermilch calling her name anymore. She takes Blake by the hand and pulls him into a thick patch of trees, hiding with him in the barren woods, both of them holding their breath, too scared to move. Once the sun starts to set and they’re covered with a safe layer of darkness, she whispers to Blake that they can head home.

The walk home is long and painful. The wind is like sheets of ice against them, frozen needles stabbing into their skin, flakes of snow sticking in their hair, tears freezing in drippy icicles on their faces. Jessica could feel the flesh begin to rot beneath her nails.

“Blake,” she says as they stop at the edge of his driveway. “Please don’t tell your parents about what happened today. Please. Everything will be okay. I just need to figure things out.”

“Jess,” Blake wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Why did you hit Father Loutermilch?” he asks, sniffling.

Jessica freezes and realizes sooner or later, she will have to tell Blake the truth. But he doesn’t deserve to hear about that, he’s so sweet and innocent, she doesn’t want to destroy his innocence like Loutermilch destroyed hers.

She takes a deep breath and says, “Father Loutermilch is not a nice man.”

* * *

She finally calms Blake down to the point where they can go inside, shaking off the snow and depositing their wet shoes on the floor.

Blakes house is so different from hers. No one is ever yelling or throwing things, there’s no holes in the walls, no red stains on the floor. It feels more holy than any church she’s ever been in. She wonders if this is what home is supposed to feel like. Like warmth and comfort and love. Love without conditions.

Mrs. Langermann comes bounding down the hallway, wiping her hands on her jeans, and Jessica can tell she’s been cooking.

“Hi, sweetie, your father spilled coffee all over the kitchen floor. Don’t go in there til we clean it up. Hiya, Jessica, are you staying for dinner?” she smiled, blowing a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Um, yeah, if that’s okay, I mean.” Jessica looks at the ground while Blake nudges his shoes and refuses to speak.

“Of course, hon. You’re welcome here whenever.” She smiles and heads back into the kitchen, laughing slightly at her husband.

Jessica turns to Blake, who is staring at his feet. He seems almost catatonic.

“I’m sorry I left,” he whispers. “I should’ve stayed when you asked me to.”

Jessica says nothing for a long moment, and she wishes she could tell him it’s okay, she’s not mad. But part of her is mad, part of her hates him for abandoning her so quickly. But another part knows that, without him, she would never have had the strength to fight back.

“It’s not your fault,” she says. “He threatened you too.”

“But he– “

“He’s a liar,” she says, both to Blake and to herself. “I‘ll never let him hurt you,” she says, taking Blakes hand and squeezing it tight.

He nods, perhaps to her, perhaps to himself, and he walks away, into the living room and parks himself on the sofa, pulling his knees up to his chin and going silent.

Mrs. Langermann steps back into the hallway, her hair now swept up in a ponytail. Jessica tries to remember her mother, and the image is fuzzy and unclear.

“You okay, sweetie?” she asks, giving a slight smile.

Jessica presses her lips together and swallows hard. “Um, can I talk to you about something, Mrs. Langermann? By ourselves, I mean? Please?”

Her brow furrows and she nods. “Of course.”

Mrs. Langermann puts a hand on her shoulder and walks her down the hall, into the computer room, and shuts the door behind her. Jessica still flinches at the sound of the lock clicking, suddenly going stiff and wringing her hands together as she reassures herself that Mrs. Langermann would never do anything to hurt her. She was such a nice lady, always embarrassing her son with kisses and compliments.

“Is everything okay, Jess? You seem jumpy.”

Jessica’s gaze darts to the ground, to an overstuffed bookshelf, to the bouncing logo in the computer screen and the dust on the tower.

“I’m just...I haven’t been feeling well recently–“ Not entirely untrue. “And I was just wondering...how, um, how old were you when you first started...you know, dating boys? And...kissing them, and doing...other stuff...?”

She looks up and Mrs. Langermann looks confused, startled, like Jessica has said something horrifying. “I think I was around seventeen...why are you asking me this, sweetheart?”

Jessica opens her mouth to speak but she can’t form words, she can’t explain to this poor woman what is happening. She thought she had finally garnered up the bravery and strength to tell someone, to say it out loud, to ask why this is happening because she knows it’s not right, but what if it is? What if Mrs. Langermann tells her to suck it up, to stop whining, to stop acting like a baby and just deal with it?

What if Mrs. Langermann tells her she will go to Hell for sinning. For seducing and corrupting a good and righteous man. For forcing him into a position in which he just couldn’t resist her.

“I was just...I was wondering...it wouldn’t be okay for someone...someone around your age, for example, to...’date’ someone my age, right? Like, that wouldn’t be normal, would it?”

Anything resembling calm immediately disappears from Mrs. Langermann’s face, replaced with a sickly worry as she leans down, holding Jessica by the shoulders. “No, that wouldn’t be okay or normal, Jess. Is there something you want to tell me? Is someone making you feel uncomfortable?” A wave of barely-hidden horror passes over her face. “Has someone...touched you in a way that made you feel...wrong?”

She opens her mouth again, and again the words fall to pieces before she can get them out. Her legs begin to tremble, and she feels so sick, like she’s going to faint and vomit at the same time. She presses a hand to her mouth and tries to silence the choked sobs that erupt from her throat.

“I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have said anything...everything is fine...I told him I wouldn’t tell...he made me swear to God I wouldn’t tell...”

“Who did?” Mrs. Langermann almost shakes her, her grip tightening. “Sweetie, whatever is going on, you can tell me about it. I promise, nothing bad will happen to you. You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. I just need you to tell me who hurt you.”

“He’s still hurting me,” she sobs, the words coming out in a long whine. “He hurts me everyday! I told him to stop! I told him I didn’t want to do it! He said I was flirting with him...I just wanted him to like me...”

Tears were falling fast now, tumbling down her face and splashing in her lap, her voice shaking so much she thought she would choke on her own sobs.

The door cracks open and she sees Mr. Langermann, who looks at Jessica in confusion, then at his wife.

“Honey, I need you to call 911. Don’t tell Blake, I don’t wanna scare him, but I need you to get police over here now.”

Mr. Langermann doesn’t question it, he just nods and darts out of the doorway.

“Jessica,” she wipes the tears from her face and looks at her. “I need you to tell me his name.“

“He made me swear not to tell,” she whispers. “He said I’ll go to Hell if I break my promise. I don’t want to go to Hell. I just want him to leave me alone.”

“You won’t go to Hell. He made you lie. He did something bad and that’s his fault.”

“But I swore to God– “ she sobs, hiding her face in her hands. She was so brave when she could hide behind her anger, when she could spit in his face and make him bleed. Blood and abuse she could handle. She could take it, she could give it back. After awhile, she’d grown used to it. But kindness was something she simply couldn’t comprehend.

“God won’t be mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. Now, please...how about you write down his name? That way you’re not breaking your promise. You can do that, right, sweetie?”

Jessica nods, wiping her tears from her cheeks as Mrs. Langermann places a yellow legal pad on her lap, shoves a pen into her hand. “It’s okay. Just write it down.”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, thinks about her soul leaving her body, watching her sit there and tremble with fear. She opens her eyes and looks at the paper. She has written his name. Messy scribbles across the page in black ink, but she can read it perfectly clear, and so can Mrs. Langermann.

She takes the paper from Jessica’s hand. Her grip tightens on it, covering her mouth with her free hand, then swallowing hard. Jessica can see her fear, her anger, her betrayal. She’d felt all those things too. She’d felt them for so long.

Mrs. Langermann curses under a shuddering breath. The paper crinkles as her hand balls into a fist.

“Okay,” she says. Jessica doesn’t know if she’s talking to herself or not. “Thank you for telling me, sweetheart. You’re so brave, okay, honey?” She dropped the paper and reached to hug Jessica, but stopped, opting instead to gently squeeze her shoulder. “You’re such a strong, brave girl.”

But Jessica didn’t want to be strong or brave. She shouldn’t have needed to be. She just wanted to be a child.

“I’m sorry I never told you before,” Jessica sobs, falling into Mrs. Langermanns embrace. She hears the door open again but doesn’t bother to look up.

“He told me it was normal. He said he loved me. He said I made him do it.”

“Shh,” she hushes her and hugs her tightly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jessica looks up, looking through the strands of strawberry blonde hair covering her eyes. She sees Blake in the doorway, tears falling down his face as he watches in silence.

 _I’m sorry_ , he’s trying to say, but the words won’t come out.


	2. the father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to introduce a detective oc so jessica had someone to talk to so please enjoy. she may or may not be related to another outlast character cause i can’t stop myself from making everything connected

Mrs. Langermann parks her on the office sofa, holding her trembling hands and trying to be comforting without getting too close. Her hands hover over Jessica’s shoulders but don’t touch. She keeps going to hug her then pulling back, like Jessica will break if she does.

_ Maybe I will _ , Jessica thinks.

“I’m going to go talk to Blake’s dad, okay, Jess? Just for a minute so we can figure out what to do. I’ll be right back, sweetie.”

Jessica nods as Mrs. Langermann slips out the door, closing it gently behind her until the lock clicks. Jessica heard hushed words through the door, but she blocks them out until she can barely hear them.

She feels herself drifting away again. Slipping out of her body, floating aimlessly through her thoughts. She feels as though she’s floating in water, as though the chlorine waves of the pool are carrying her away, out of her school, her prison, into a warm river, the sun shining on her face. Her hair floating like reeds in the water. So close to that freedom that she’s been robbed of for so long.

Her mind is clouded with dark thoughts: long tongues wrapping around her ankles and pulling her down into the water, filling her mouth and crushing her windpipe. Her whole body begins to tremble. She pulls her legs up to her chest, putting her head down, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mind is filled with visions of what Hell was to come: Mrs. Langermann returning to inform her that there’s nothing they can do. Going back to school to see that disgusting, sick, evil man again. How he might react now that she’d disobeyed him. He was cruel enough when she hadn’t done anything wrong; her bruises ached at the thought of what he may do.

Visions of her face slammed against the carpet as he hits her. A clump of bloody blonde hair on a desk corner. Her dress ripped and discarded.

The door opens and she snaps out of it. Mrs. Langermann has her long dark hair loose again. Jessica tries to focus on those little details to keep her grounded.

Before she can speak, Jessica blurts out, “Did you call the police?” She doesn’t look her in the eye. “Is someone going to arrest him?”

She doesn’t need to say the name. She doesn’t want to say it ever again. She hates it. She hates addressing him like he’s someone to be respected, someone worthy of a title. He isn’t worthy of anything but death and Hell.

Jessica knows that’s not a good Christian thing to think. But raping a little girl wasn’t a very good Christian thing to do, so she figures they’re even now. 

“We hope so,” Mrs. Langermann says. “Someone is going to be over soon, and you just have to tell them everything you told me, okay? Just like you did before. And I promise, we won’t let him ever hurt you again.”

Jessica can’t do anything but pray Mrs. Langermann is right.

* * *

The police officer who comes to visit her isn’t dressed in any uniform. She’s dressed in a blue blouse and black pants, her curly black hair pushed back with a tight headband. Jessica remembers all the times the cops have shown up on her lawn after the neighbors complained about the noise. She lost faith in them a long time ago.

“Hi, Jessica,” the woman says. “I’m a detective. My name is Maria. Are you feeling okay?”

No. Not at all. Not in a long time. “I’m fine. Are you a cop?”

Maria looks at her with slight puzzlement. “Sort of. I’m a private investigator. I’m a friend of Mr. and Mrs, Langermann, that’s why they called me. I’m here to help you.”

Jessica nods. Maria grabs the rolling desk chair and pulls it over, sitting down gently and looking at Jessica with a soft expression. “So, Jessica. Mrs. Langermann said you told her someone has been hurting you. Someone who teaches at your school, right?”

Jessica nods. “He teaches music. His name is Father Loutermilch. He always makes me call him the whole thing.”

Detective Maria nods. “I know this is hard for you, Jessica, but can you tell me what he does?”

Jessica opens her mouth and chokes on a wet sob. She’d never said it before, never even written it down. No one knew what he did to her.

She tells Detective Maria everything. Once she starts, she can’t stop, it all floods out. She sobs and heaves as she tells her how he was so kind to her at first, how he gave her gifts, see, she still has them. That night in the music room when he touched her for the first time. Put one hand up her skirt and one over her mouth so she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t run.

She tells the detective every dark, ugly, sick thing he did to her. Every room he raped her in. How she’d begged him to stop, to just leave her alone. How no one noticed, no one helped her, no one cared. Her father didn’t care anything about, and he wouldn’t believe her even if she’d told him.

“Please don’t make me go back there,” Jessica sobs. “Please don’t make me.”

Maria looks to Mrs. Langermann, who just nods. “Maybe you can stay with the Langermanns until we have this all sorted out.”

Jessica nods and looks at Mrs. Langermann, who is covering her mouth her hand as tears leak down her face. Mr. Langermann stands a few feet behind her. She wonders where Blake is.

Blake. She thinks of Blake.

“What?” Maria says, and Jessica realizes she’d said it aloud.

“Blake. He was going to hurt Blake...I couldn’t let him.”

Maria nodded. “He won’t be able to hurt Blake anymore. I’ll make sure of it. And he won’t be able to hurt you, ever again.”

It feels like a strange dream, too good to be true. “He will. He’ll find me. He just won’t leave me alone.”

Maria shakes her head. “I promise, we won’t let him.” She leans forward and puts her hand over Jessica’s, squeezing it slightly. 

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Horrible things lurked in the depths of Jessica’s memory. That night in the bathroom. The smell of chlorine and bleach and blood. The man with the briefcase. The horrible pain in her stomach as he ripped the baby from her.

“He had sex with me,” she whispers.

“I understand, sweetheart,” Maria says.

“No,” Jessica sobs. “You don’t understand, okay?  He had sex with me . He said I was like Mary and he was like God, so it was okay he did it.”

“Did what, Jess?”

She can barely speak, barely even stay conscious. Her stomach churns with every second.

“Is it okay if I just write it down?”

Maria nods and reaches for the same legal pad. Her eyes are full of worry.

Jessica takes the pen in her hand and tries to think of how to word this. Maria won’t believe her if she just says it.

Says what? she thinks.  I was pregnant. I gave birth. He sold the baby to a man in a lab coat.

Who would believe her? She sounds so ridiculous, just spinning lies to make her story seem sadder.

She takes a deep breath and starts to write.

_I was pregnant_ ,  she writes. It’s all she can force out.

Maria takes the legal pad and all the color drains from her face. She presses a hand to her mouth and inhales deeply. After a few seconds of silence, she speaks.

“And Loutermilch is the father?” is all she can say.

Jessica nods.

Maria presses her lips together. “Thank you for telling me this. I know this is hard for you, but can you tell me what happened to the child?”

Jessica can’t control her tears when she hears that word.  Child . Her child.

“He sold it,” she sobs.

Maria blinks at her. “To who?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I can’t remember. I just remembered feeling sick, and then I woke up in the bathroom by the pool. He was there, and someone else was there. And he took the baby and gave it to him.”

She heard Mrs. Langermann choke on her sobs from outside the room. She hates that she’s causing everyone this much pain.

“Can you remember anything about the man? The one who took it?”

Jessica shut her eyes and tried to remember that horrible night. The smell of chlorine and blood. The cutting pain between her legs. The needle in her neck

“He had a briefcase,” she says. “It had an M on it. Like this,” she takes the paper and draws the shape the best she can. Three uneven prongs, like a broken fork, with a dash above it.

Maria studies the insignia and grits her teeth. “Murkoff...?” she whispers, thinking out loud.

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but Jessica can’t place where she’s heard it.

“He said something about a temple gate. I...I don’t know what that means.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Maria says, sighing.

They sit in silence as Maria stares at Jessica’s scribbles, studying them. Jessica can see her connecting the dots in her mind.

“You’re going to arrest Father Loutermilch, aren’t you?” Jessica asks.

Maria nods.

“He said someone would if I told. He said if he was gone, there’d be no one to help me. No one to make me feel  loved .”

She doesn’t notice how angry she is until she feels her nails cut into her palms. She unclenches her fists and breathes deeply.

“What he did to you wasn’t love,” Maria says. “He lied to you.”

“I know it wasn’t,” Jessica says through grit teeth. “I always knew it wasn’t.”

She says nothing else as the rage swells within her. All the anger she hid inside for so long. Anger at Loutermilch, at her father, at every other adult in her life who failed to notice what was happening, or worse, simply didn’t care. Her teachers who should’ve noticed, should’ve said something. Ms. Parham, who noticed the decline in Jessica’s mental state, who saw her crumbling and delivered her right back into Loutermilch’s waiting arms. Father Wilter, who brushed off her plea for help as nothing but girlish nerves. Lynn, who barely noticed Jessica was behaving any different. Even Blake, who wasn’t brave enough to stand up and say anything. Everyone who pushed her so far to the edge that she was left with no choice.

“I want to go with you,” Jessica blurts out.

Maria looks at her with concern. “What do you mean?”

“When you arrest him. I want to see him.”

Maria looks to Mrs. Langermann, who was leaning against her husband with a worried expression.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Mr. Langermann says.

“Please,” she cries. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been doing everything he says? How long he’s been controlling me and forcing me to do whatever he wants?” She wipes her face and sniffles, but the sobs keep coming. “Just once, I want to tell him how much I hate him. Please let me have that.”

Maria sighed and looked to the Langermanns. Jessica wondered where Blake was, what he was doing, how he was feeling.

“Alright,” Maria said. “I’ll let you talk to him for a few minutes. But we won’t let him do anything to you, okay? We’ll talk down at the station.”

Jessica nods. _ The truth will set you free _ , she thinks. Maybe it’s true.

* * *

Maria drove her back in a smoky red hatchback, not a cop car like Jessica pictured. But private investigators were different, she remembered. She hoped they cared more than any of the police who showed up on her lawn at 1:00 A.M. and left at 1:10.

She looked out the window, feeling a strange comfort in the purity of the white snow. A light flurry continued falling, landing on the windshield. Jessica couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt clean, pure, anything but dirty and sinful and wrong.

They pass St. Sybil. Several other cars, including police cars, crowd the school parking lot. The iron gate was swung wide open. Jessica had never seen it like that before.

Maria’s car comes to a stop at an intersection, her motioning oncoming traffic to go ahead, On the sidewalk, Jessica sees another girl attempting to see past the wall of vehicles, looking into the school with investigative curiosity.

“Jessica!” the girl yells, running over to the car and slapping the window. Turning, she recognizes Lynn, who held a tiny notebook in her palm and and waved urgently. Lynn was one of those people who was constantly writing things down, writing down anything she thought could possibly be important. She liked to be in-the-know regarding anything and everything. Jessica figured she was going mad not knowing why the police were swarming her school.

“Jess!” Lynn gasps, her breath forming small clouds in the air. “Dude, have you seen this? Do you know what the hell’s going on? None of those stupid cops will tell me.” She scowls, as if it was ridiculous they wouldn’t inform a thirteen-year-old.

Jessica isn’t sure what to tell her. The truth? Lynn doesn’t need to know about that. She didn’t even want Blake to know.

“Um...they arrested someone, I think.”

“Yeah, duh,” Lynn rolls her eyes. “Wait, why are you here?”

Jessica looks at the snow. “It’s someone I know.”

Concern spreads across Lynn’s face. “You okay, Jess?” She put a hand on her friends arm. “What’s wrong? Who’s being arrested?”

Lynn tended to ask questions like she was conducting an interview, but she’d dropped it now. 

“I’ll tell you later. Love you, Lynn,” she says, then turns away and rolls up her window as Maria speeds away.

* * *

Jessica had never visited the police station before, she’d never had reason to. No one paid much notice to her or Maria as they waded through desks and swivel chairs, making their way past a mostly empty holding cell.

Maria walks her down a beige hallway, leading her into another room that smelled like sweat and felt claustrophobic. Dark grey walls on all sides.

Jessica recognizes this type of room from cop shows on TV; it was an interrogation room. Technically two rooms, separated by a wall with a small window. Another detective stood staring into the room, his arms folded.

Jessica looks past the detective, into the room. She looks at the silver cuffs around Father Loutermilch’s wrists, chaining him to the metal table he sat at. She could see his nerves growing, his hands folded tightly, one leg shaking anxiously.

She almost smiles, which she knows is wrong, but it’s so nice to see him in her position for once. Nervous, terrified, that sick churning in your stomach when you have no idea what’s going to happen next. Feeling like the floor has been yanked out from under you and you’re falling, endless and aimless. Knowing the impact could come at any time. 

“Can I talk to him?” she asks Maria, who looks to her partner.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” the male detective asks, looking at Maria.

“I’m sure,” Jessica says, before Maria can answer. “I just need to ask him something.”

Maria looks to her partner, who looks unconvinced, but not wholly against the idea.

“Alright,” Maria says. “Just for a minute.”

When she opens the door, Loutermilch looks up and narrows his eyes at the detective. “Are you finally going to tell me what reason you have to hold me here against my will? Or has the Church finally sent over a lawyer?”

“Because of what you did to me,” Jessica says, walking quickly past Maria, staring at her former teacher. His expression changes to one of worry and rage.

“Jessica,” he says, his voice going back to that soft, fatherly tone he put on when speaking to her. He tried to reach out for her, but his wrists caught on the handcuffs, pulling him back down to the table. 

“Jessica, tell them this is all a misunderstanding. Tell them they’ve got this all wrong. You’re a good girl, right, Jessica? You know lying is a sin. But if you repent now, God will forgive your mistake. So just tell them I never hurt you.”

Jessica feels sick as he tries to blame this all on her, as he makes her out to be the sinner, the one who needs penance.

“All you do is hurt me,” Jessica spits. “You hurt me and you threatened me and you raped me.”

He shakes his head desperately. “No, no, Jessica, I love you. You know I love you. I would never hurt you. You’re young, you’re just confused. So let me help you. Help you make this right.”

“You raped me!” she cries, smacking her hands on the table. “You raped me and you put that child in me and then you sold him! Like he was some piece of junk at a garage sale.”

He shook his head, looking like she was spouting nonsense, like he hadn’t the slightest clue what she meant. “You’re confused. That never happened. I know you’re dealing with some trouble at home, but that’s no excuse to make up lies about people.”

“I’m not lying! You know I’m not! You know what you did! They all know!”

He looks away and she continues sobbing. “Please, just tell me what you did with the baby. Please.”

He inhaled deeply and looks to meet her eyes. “He’s better off than he’d ever be with you. You can’t even protect yourself.”

Jessica’s lip trembles as she tries to speak, tears welling in her eyes. Rage burns in her chest like hellfire. She can’t make herself be civil in longer. She hates this man more than anyone has ever hated anyone. More than God hated Satan or Jesus hated Judas. She hates him completely, with her entire heart, for stealing so much from her. Her childhood, her innocence, her virginity, any sense of happiness she could’ve possibly had. He’d pushed her so far, manipulating her and abusing her past the point of no return.

With wide, wet eyes, she leans forward, staring directly at him. She refuses to avert her gaze any longer.

“I hope they kill you in prison,” she says. “And I hope you rot in Hell.”

He blinks at her and grits his jaw. “No one is sending me to prison. The Church will recognize this for what it is: the lies of a God-hating slut who wants to spit on the name of good men of faith.”

The mask of kindness finally slips, just like it did every time he climbed on top of her and spit venomous words into her ear about what an evil temptress she was, how everything he did to her was her own fault.

He’s finally showing himself the way she always knew he was: a miserable excuse for a human being who hid behind God to abuse little girls. Who preyed on her innocence and vulnerability, who got off on her in pain, who would destroy whoever he wanted to satisfy his desires.

Fear rises within her; fear that he’s right, that he’ll walk free. Go back to teaching music at St. Sybil like nothing ever happened.

And what would become of her? He wouldn’t just shrug this off. She knew he was far too vindictive for that. He would corner her again, and soon all the ways he tormented her in the past would seem like dreams compared to her new nightmare.

He would kill her. He would find her and rape her over and over again, and when he was done, he would kill her. And then he’d throw her aside like garbage and move on to his next target. Find himself a newer, younger student to ruin and destroy. It would never end, he would just keep getting away with it, he would keep doing it.

She thinks of Blake and Lynn. How he would certainly narrow in on them to punish her even further. Poor Blake, who she knew couldn’t survive that. Poor Lynn, who had no idea what was really going on at her school. He would move from child to child, he would keep taking and taking. When would enough be enough? When would he stop? When would it end?

_ Never _ , a voice in her head whispers. 

Jessica looks at his hands, folded neatly, obscuring the handcuffs. She focuses on the dull metal table, a styrofoam cup of coffee with Maria’s lipstick stains on the rim, a ballpoint pen left strewn on the table.

“When this is over, Jessica, I’ll pray for your wicked soul, and maybe if you pray with me, God will still let you into Heaven.”

Her hands so stiff again, like they did when she scratched him. But even more. Her whole body is shaking with rage.

“I’ll make sure to visit you when you’re on library duty again, Jessica. And show you how much love I have left to share with you, and your friend Blake.”

Something in her goes sharp when she hears Blake’s name, like she’s programmed to snap when she hears it.

All that hatred swells within her like a flood, pushing against a leaking dam, commanding her like God commanded Joan of Arc. That voice that was once so faint is growing louder and louder, filling her head with horrible screams; screams of her own, of Blake’s, of Lynn’s. Only one scream was missing. 

Before he can speak again, the pen is already in her hand and she’s already jabbing it into his throat, shoving it in repeatedly in messy motions. She isn’t aiming for anywhere in particular; she just wants him to bleed.

He screams in pain and attempts to jump back, but the handcuffs keep him tethered to the table. She lunges towards him and continues stabbing and stabbing and screaming and crying and spitting in his face as angry words fall out of her mouth. He tries to elbow her off but she latches on like a ravenous vulture.

She feels hands grabbing her from behind, yanking her away from him, but she digs her nails into his skin and shoves the pen, bloody and wet, into his eye socket, the one she’d scratched previously, then digs her nails into that red mark on his head, tearing away the flesh.

He’s still screaming, but he grows quieter and more strained as the detectives finally pull her off of him, wrapping their arms around her and holding her down.

The pen is still protruding from his eye as he makes a wet gargling sound, raw and pained, trying to limp his way away from her but being yanked back down to the table.

He slips on his own blood, falling against the table, splitting his head open on the sharp metal corner.

Jessica falls to the ground, sobbing, Maria and her partner holding her down in a half-hug, half tackle. Blood was sprayed across her face. Spit rolled down her chin. She heaves and hiccups but refuses to close her eyes, staring at what remains of Father Loutermilch.

Tears roll down her cheeks as she starts to laugh, a horrible, pained laugh of someone finally free. It’s the laugh of a prisoner who has finally escaped. Her laughs and sobs mix together. She laughs knowing he’ll never hurt another little girl. He’ll never go back to teaching. He’ll never lay his hands on her again. She laughs for his death, but she sobs for the girl who died long ago, the girl she used to be. Buried six feet beneath her pain.

She laughs for the freedom she’s gained, the power she’s taken back, and she cries for how much of her life she’s already lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he had it coming all along

**Author's Note:**

> jessica deserves a happy ending and loutermilch deserves to get his ass beat. like if you agree. comment if you really agree and tell me how you think i should beat his ass.


End file.
